


Tender is the Night

by docboredom



Category: TWRP | Tupper Ware Remix Party (Band)
Genre: Early Mornings, Gen, Reminiscing, phobos just lets himself have a quiet moment and relishes in the dawn, such is the way of tour life and being the early bird i suppose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:34:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24191392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/docboredom/pseuds/docboredom
Summary: Really, Phobos was simply too caught up in how inconceivable he felt in these spare, hidden moments of pre-dawn. A being rendered purely abstract. It was as if he was no more than a forgotten ghost or a fading memory. Made of dust and wind.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 11





	Tender is the Night

The world sighed at dawn. 

There was no other way to describe how the night pulled back oh-so-easily, like a sleeping figure turning over before their dreams came to an end. And it was beautiful, really, the way the world showed it’s softest colors before anyone else was truly able to witness them- all tender, gentle blushing; the sun murmuring “good morning, I love you” to no one else but _him._

He knew that wasn't quite the truth. Not quite an actual reality. But sometimes he liked to think that way, even if it was a secret just for him. 

Phobos watched the watercolor sky with inkwell eyes and a quietly beating heart, facing out towards the back of the hotel parking lot with the trunk popped up. He was the only one up at this hour, unsurprisingly, it _was_ their off day after all, the shitty styrofoam casing of his coffee cup seeping an almost painful heat into his palms. The blanket resting upon his shoulder still smelled like Sung despite the misty morning smell of petrichor and acrid coffee rising up around him, trailing down his back and into the van as if he were lost royalty or on the run.

The irony of that statement hit a moment too late but he still managed a quiet huff.

Really, Phobos was simply too caught up in how inconceivable he felt in these spare, hidden moments of pre-dawn. A being rendered purely abstract. It was as if he was no more than a forgotten ghost or a fading memory. Made of dust and wind.

That could have been his reality, truly. He could have died in the Funk fueled fires on Satelles with the rest of his people centuries ago. Somedays it felt as though it had only been yesterday that his life had changed irrevocably. Other days it was no more than a memory of a memory, something that felt more real when he read about it or watched old news. He'd blame the latter on how Sung liked to pull and play with time like it was putty, stretching and collapsing it between his fingers like he was some kind of godling.

Sometimes Phobos would joke about it, not knowing what else to do when the grief loomed too largely, desperate not to fall into it's claws. Just as he had done when they had been younger, when he had first sworn himself to his vow. No one knew how to reciprocate it when he did but that didn't matter in the long run. Life went on, he figured. Dawning to daylight. Midday to midnight. Cycling on and on.

Someone was calling him, he realized, a subtle buzzing that filled the entire car. He didn’t answer it the first time around, pressing his mouth to the rim of the coffee cup instead, flinching as it still managed to burn his tongue despite his waiting. Just a while longer. Just until the gold threaded through. Then he'd head back to the room.

“Hey.” He answered finally when whoever was calling couldn't get the hint, causing Sung to make a startled sound on his end. “I know, I’ll be back soon.” He said in a great big rush.

The first mourning dove cried sweetly as the sun began to finally start it's rising. “...Take your time.” The other answered and he couldn't help but smile at the understanding there. “There's no rush at all."

**Author's Note:**

> it's been raining here a lot and i felt soft and introspective  
> twrp forever will be where my kindness and passion comes out
> 
> i listened to a lot of j. tillman while i wrote this, and the title comes from 'tender is the night in paperback' which is a very soft instrumental track


End file.
